


The Bullet Waltz

by sojourney



Series: Triskellion Series [2]
Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-01-02 20:48:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sojourney/pseuds/sojourney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since Death the Kid asked the Thompson Sisters to join him, none of their lives have been the same. From the streets of Brooklyn to Death City, they exist like three points tied together in the center. Second in the Triskellion series. Part 4/5 complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PART ONE

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place directly following The Good Son and is dedicated to my two favourite Troika authors, Gin-kyo and Nenena, who inspired me to love the complicated and beautiful relationship between Kid, Liz and Patty.
> 
> "There are three constants in life: change, choice and principles." ~Stephen Covey

**Long Island, New York**

The nights had started to turn cold over the past week, frost patterning the corners of taxi windows while their drivers caught ten minute naps between fares. It prompted the desperate scrounge for old newspapers and the least sodden cardboard boxes to feed into oil drums lit at night, while the homeless of New York clustered around them. The experienced ones knew that this would be the leanest month, an indefinite time between the first cold snap and the first snowfall when people would hurry down the streets, mindful of their own shivering but forgetting that the transients still needed their offhand donations. It wasn't necessarily always money and so, when a steaming cup of coffee crossed the man's vision, he looked with equal parts thanks and awe up at the beautiful face of the woman offering it.

"Here," she said serenely. "You look like you could use this."

"Thank you ma'am," the homeless man answered, touching a hat that didn't exist in an effort to be polite.

His fingertips started to tingle after he accepted the cup, the thin styrofoam sides barely containing the heat. Sipping the liquid inside, he was surprised at how quickly the warmth suffused him - and then alarmed, as it spread and spread until his whole body felt afire. His eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped forward, the coffee splashing across the grimy pavement.

The woman's expression changed as she leered at the immobile body. Slowly tugging free of its flesh, the man's soul drifted upward, connected only by a thin filament of light. The coffee had been laced with a heavy extract of dittany, an herb once used by the Greeks to aid in astral projection. With the right magical enhancements, it became capable of thinning the tether between body and soul, and the witch severed this one with a wolfish grin before moving on.

 

* * *

**Death City, Nevada  
Three Days Prior**

"If our information on her identity is correct," Nygus began, passing around a folder with information pulled directly from Shibusen's confidential records of witch activity. She, Sid, and Spirit had urgently entered the Death Room, stopping the lesson between father and son. Since Shinigami hadn't asked him to leave, Kid was now standing unobtrusively nearby as the bandage-wrapped weapon continued, "Her name is Holjda. She's over two hundred years old and uses a herbology-based magic. NYPD contacted us earlier this morning. In the last two weeks, they've discovered over a dozen bodies, mostly homeless. Although the initial autopsies concluded that they died of natural causes, it's now known that their souls were removed anywhere from one to three days prior to their deaths."

Shinigami was having trouble separating the sheets of paper with his huge hands and commented absently, "A soul can continue without a living body. But without the soul, the body will give up. It wouldn't do to have- ah thank you, Kid," he interrupted himself as the teen stepped forward and took the papers to divide them neatly.

"What about sending in two or three high-level teams?" Spirit spoke up. "If they can corner her-"

"Then she might go to ground," Sid pointed out, as usual thinking the most strategically about the situation. Nygus was nodding in agreement as he continued, "We've don't even know if she's releasing her Soul Protect when this happens. It might not be a  _spell_  she's using, which will make her almost impossible to locate."

"Tch. Damn witches are getting more bold lately," the redhead grumbled, crossing him arms childishly at having his suggestion so easily shot down.

The Reaper brought one hand to the bottom of his mask thoughtfully for several moments before replying. "Please have three teams put on standby," he requested, and flashed them a thumbs up. "I'll let you know!"

Wordlessly, the three faculty members nodded and filed out. As easy as it might have been to describe the god's behaviour as simply juvenile, all of them knew that Shinigami didn't make the decision to send students - even those of a two-or-three-star level skill - into battle against a witch lightly.

After they had left, Kid closed up the folder, having digested all the information contained within on the witch. He came to stand next to his father as Shinigami called up Manhattan on his mirrors, as though seeing the city under siege would help him choose the right course of action. "Not good when witches can't be pinpointed as witches," the elder god mused. "That Soul Protect is becoming a pain,  _hmm~_?"

"We'll find something to counter it," Kid answered. Only last year they'd discovered a witch trying to open a demonic gate inside a boarded up bakery not even ten blocks from the school. Shibusen's teams had caught her before any real harm could be done, but the fact remained that until she'd released her Soul Protect during the final spell, they'd been oblivious to her presence within Death City. Kid still recalled the angry words hurled at Shibusen's steps as some of the citizens let their fear run their mouths. Spirit - under the authority of Death Scythe - had dispelled them, but it served to remind Kid how fickle human loyalty could be.

Shinigami patted his son's head playfully, though underneath the gesture he appreciated the reassurance. "Until then, however..."

"Let me go to New York," Kid said earnestly. "I'll find the witch for you, Father."

The Reaper hesitated and the pause was long enough to make Kid wonder what the silence was supposed to convey. He read  _worry, resolve, regret_  in the omnipresent brush of his father's soul, but no explanation was offered until finally Shinigami replied, "Taking a witch's soul is no easy feat. Much different than a kishin egg. To do so by yourself..."

"But I have a better chance of finding her than the teams," Kid pointed out. "You're thinking of sending Anthony, Eileen and Damian's team, aren't you?" He looked expectantly up at his father and without waiting for an answer, continued, "Damian has the strongest soul sense between all three meisters, but his can be unreliable under pressure. Also Eileen and Alice are barely speaking to each other, so they're more likely to blow up a city block during a resonance than patrol it."

Shinigami stared at his son, who had somehow managed to acquire all the gossip of Shibusen's hallways without the benefit of actually attending. "Is that so~?" he said thoughtfully. "I'm glad you're paying attention, Kid! But we can't wait too long with so many people at risk. Do you think you can track her down in three days?"

Kid nodded swiftly, though Shinigami knew that he'd not even considered another option before replying. Kid's childish promise to never fail a mission he was given flitted through his mind, and he wondered if his son was thinking about that too. "All right, Kid. I'm counting on you."

 

* * *

**Brooklyn, New York**

Liz let her head loll against the dirty brick wall, the smell of paint fumes dulling her senses. The sound of the city's afternoon ambiance was mixed with her sister's tuneless humming and the  _hiss-whisk_  of the spray can. "Sis, look!" Patty grinned up at her from her seated position, her fingers stained with acrylic yellow. "I drew another giraffe! And a sunflower!"

"Good girl," Liz murmured. The pleasant lightheaded feeling was transitioning to nausea seated in her too-empty stomach. She pushed off the wall, wiping the grime on the torn leg of her jeans. Although her immediate concern was the food, her mind was also planning for tonight. She'd been much more cautious the last few weeks, ever since the bodies had started showing up. News of them had spread through the city's itinerant population like the latest hot clubbing drug: people who'd simply shown up  _dead_  for no good reason, and even the cops were baffled. It meant that in addition to keeping them fed, Liz had to be extra careful as to where they spent the night. "Come on. Let's see if we can get lunch."

"Gehehehe," the younger sister laughed, bouncing to her feet. That meant that they were going to find a mark and steal their money, then treat themselves to a hot meal. "Sis, can I have a cheeseburger?"

"Sure."

" _And_  fries?"

Liz put an arm around her sister's shoulders and pulled her close as they swaggered down the alley. "Anything you want, Patty."

 

* * *

**Lower Manhattan, New York**

New York was much bigger than he'd expected, busier than any city Kid had ever visited before. The intense press of people, ebbing and flowing like the tide against an island, was starting to feel overwhelming. It was one thing to know intellectually the population of a given place, and another to be standing in the middle of it. Kid focused on the pleasing aesthetic of streets plotted in an orderly grid, which made it both easier to navigate and easier on his sanity. He was trying not to be derailed from his task at hand, but the city was proving to have more than its fair share of distractions.

And he was running out of time.

For three days Kid had been scouring the streets for his elusive target. So far he'd found only two more of the witch's victims, left as nothing more than soulless dolls. This Holjda's process of harvesting human souls  _without_  killing her victims in the process - a depraved mockery of a shinigami's  _konso_  ability which raised an unexpected ire in Kid - was unlike anything Shibusen had seen before. His father was anticipating his success and Kid couldn't bear to think that he might be letting him down.

He realized that he was scowling and that a shadow darker than the black pavement was twisting along the street behind him, reacting to his emotions.

_"All right, Kid. I'm counting on you."_

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Kid turned purposefully off the lit streets and down an alley, treading neatly between the piles of garbage lining the space between the buildings. He wouldn't find a witch in the places where light reached, and so into the darkness he went.

 

* * *

**Long Island, New York**

Holjda knew she was being hunted, felt a voracious grin stretch her mouth too wide for it to have been mistaken for human any longer. She wasn't young and foolish enough to think that her actions would escape Shibusen's notice, and in truth was looking forward to it. She had nothing to fear from the child-warriors that the Grim Reaper would send after her. She wondered if he even remembered that she'd killed one of them a century ago. She could still taste the salty tang of the young girl's blood on her lips as the meister lay dying on the Parisian stones at her feet.

_To hell with the rule of the gods,_  she thought viciously. The Reaper was effectively crippled, leashed to Death City and even eight hundred years later, the witch masses had still not overcome their haunted memories of Death and his elite Eight which had plagued them.

She refused to acknowledge that the brief touches of her pursuer hadn't  _felt_  like the bitter tang of human mortality; Holdja was done cowering. "Come and find me," she crooned up towards the smog-blurred stars. "I'll eat you up..."

 

* * *

**Brooklyn, New York**

The suit had fooled her.

When Liz grabbed the guy's shoulder, spun him around before slamming him back into the wall, she was surprised to see that he was younger than she was, perhaps her sister's age. Her knuckles scraped across the brick as she leaned her weight forward to keep him in place, lifting Patty's muzzle up under his chin. Even if he was young, there was no way someone so well-dressed didn't have a ton of cash on him. "Hand over your wallet," she leered, flecks of ash falling onto his shirt as her cigarette bobbed in her mouth. "Or we'll blow your head open."

At the dual pronoun, his eyes shifted to the gun she held. His eyes were unnerving; Liz had never seen eyes so yellow, or pupils ringed like that. But she refused to back down and jabbed the sharp point of the sight into the pale skin of his throat. "Hurry up, rich boy."

"No."

A low growl erupted from Patty as her image appeared in the polished steel. "Hey asshole, my sister said to give us your money! Or we're gonna mess you up real good!"

Kid's mouth pulled into a frown.  _A shame. This is one pair that Shibusen wasn't able to reach,_  he thought. Although the DWMA was recognized as a legitimate authority around the world, hence its branches on multiple continents, its enrollment was and always would remain voluntary. Without that precept, it could easily be interpreted as conscription of a powerful army and cause mass outrage. Yet that also meant that some weapons and technicians could not be taken in before their abilities led them to actions like this one. Kid looked at the pair -  _sisters_ , he corrected - and focused on their souls.

"H-Hey," Liz pulled back slightly when his gaze sharpened and she felt like he was looking right through her. Hoping to intimidate him, she jerked him forward and then pushed him hard against the building a second time. "Are you goddamned stupid-"

Their souls weren't tainted. Kid brushed the cool metal away from his face with an uncaring hand and ducked under the blond's arm. "Excuse me," he said. "I have other matters to attend."

And he started to walk away.

Liz was sure her jaw was reaching the ground.

A spike of soul energy flared behind him, and Kid felt the barrel of the Beretta against the back of his head. Annoyed, he turned to disarm his would-be mugger... then stopped, startled to see it was now a  _different_  girl standing before him - but the  _gun_  was the same! Yellow eyes widened as he realized he'd perceived them wrongly. It wasn't just one weapon and one meister, but both souls sharing both abilities. And while siblings who shared weapon blood weren't uncommon, for them to be  _identical_  weapons was unheard of. "You're-"

But there was no time to press them for information. A surge of magical radiation as the release of a witch's Soul Protect flooded the area, and Kid stepped back with a fiercely satisfied look in his eyes, oblivious to anything he'd been about to say.

"Got you," he said softly, predatory, and simply walked away.

They watched him go, mute with shock.

After he'd left, Liz felt Patty's arms drop to her side, her grip on the handle loosening. Perhaps it was the exhaust fumes that settled in the narrow spaces of the city clouding her mind, but she really had no idea what had just happened. Her form glowed as she sprang out of her gun form, putting her arms on Patty's shoulders and giving her sister a light shake. "Patty! Are you all right?"

"Sis, he just..."

Liz stroked Patty's cheek with her thumb, releasing a long sigh. "Yeah. That was..."

"He just walked away from us, like we were nothing."

There was a tense moment, where Liz searched the inflections of her sister's words for the undercurrent of maniacal laughter it sometimes held... but this time Patty just seemed confused. "We're not  _nothing_ ," the elder said vehemently. "Don't say stuff like that. We rule this town, right? So let's just go, okay? Listen to your sister, Patty. That guy was just a punk. Don't worry yourself one bit about him."

 

* * *

**Long Island, New York  
Two Hours Later**

Kid allowed himself a moment to lean against the alley wall and catch his breath. The battle with Holjda had been difficult, exactly as his father had warned. She'd used the man made jungle of Manhattan and the earth beneath it to her advantage, and he was sure he'd swallowed more concrete shards than even his shinigami body was compliant in handling. He reached up to touch the wound on the left side of his neck where her nails had scored him. The holes were small but refused to close, insult upon injury to the assortment of other bruises he now had.  _Poisoned, maybe..._  It would fit the witch's flora-based magic and while it wouldn't be enough to harm him significantly, she couldn't have known that it was causing him to seriously contemplate puncturing the  _other_  side of his neck so that they matched.

_No. That would make more of a mess._

The violet glow of the witch's soul floating in front of him cast a sickly light upon the ground and Kid focused on that. Holding his hand out, shadows leapt from his palm and surrounded the orb, lapping at it like liquid until he was able to pull it inside him. Immediately he felt heavier, his shoulders sagging at the additional burden of keeping its malevolence contained. Holjda's soul would be turned over to his father for judgment but until he got back to Death City, it was in his care.

_"Who are you?"_  the witch had snarled, spell poised to launch at him.  _"You're not one of Shibusen's spawn!"_

_"I answer to Death alone,"_  he'd answered, the shadows of his birthright swimming around him.  _"And I lay claim to your damned soul."_

Although he knew that he had to report back to Shibusen as soon as possible, the task of summoning the glyph that allowed him to bypass the usual need for a mirror to call his father seemed monumental.  _Stop being weak!_  Kid berated himself. He had yet to fail a mission he'd been sent on, but if he continued having trouble defeating even a single witch in battle...

Unease coiled like lead in the pit of his stomach. If he couldn't be trusted to carry out his father's orders, he'd be useless. That thought alone was enough for him to straighten and gather his wits, checking himself to not appear too fatigued. Taking a deep breath, the shadows from the alley pulling closer to him, he flicked his hands out and cast the giant skull sigil across the ground.

Immediately Shinigami's visage popped into existence, so quickly that Kid knew he'd been waiting at the mirror for this call. "Whassup whassup! How goes your trip?"

Only his father would refer to a tactical mission to dispatch a witch in the same way most would refer to a vacation, Kid thought. "Complete, Father. I have the witch's soul in my possession."

"WHEW~!" the god mimed relief. "That's good news all right! Great job! So you're coming home now?"

Kid recognized the underlying concern in his parent's tone, and could only imagine the sight he must have presented at the moment. "Shortly," he answered. A thought flitted across his mind, nudging its way between his current asymmetric appearance and gnawing doubt. "I would like to check on one other thing before I return. May I have your permission, Father?"

"Ohhh?" Shinigami was bemused but curious as to what could have caught his son's attention to make him want to remain in a stressful city with the added burden of a witch soul in his keeping. Trusting it was for the best, he replied, "Of course you can, Kid. Just be careful you don't tire yourself out too much!"

The teen flushed, realizing that his weariness was not as well hidden as he'd thought; he should've known better than to try and obscure such things from the person who knew him best. "Yes, Father. I'll see you soon."

 

* * *

**Brooklyn, New York**

Kid backtracked through the dark streets until he came to the alley where he'd been accosted by the two young women, but the would-be muggers were nowhere to be seen. Frowning, he cast out his senses, trying to see if they were still in the area. His tracking led him towards the river and into the labyrinth of industrial warehouses. Yet in the end it wasn't their souls which allowed him to locate the sisters, but the contingent of flashing lights and police cruisers he came across.

_"You're surrounded!"_  came the echoing crackle of a megaphone.  _"Return to your human forms, separate to ten yards apart, and come out with your hands behind your heads!"_

In response, the rapid bang of gunshots pinged off metal.  _A standoff_ , Kid surmised, peering inside the warehouse to gauge the situation. Maybe two dozen uniformed officers were ringed in a semicircle created by crates and machinery, guns drawn and ready. Even as he watched, a blond head popped above a stack of boxes on the far wall and fired off several more shots, the magenta streaks of light marking their trajectory leaving no doubt that they were demon guns.

Kid considered his options. This pair was obviously on the wrong side of the law; they'd tried to rob him and while their souls weren't tainted now, it might not take them long to start down that path. But the concept of identical,  _symmetrical_  weapons would not leave his mind.

So he walked inside the warehouse.

One of the officers noted his approach and swung the barrel of a shotgun around in his direction. "You!" he shouted, drawing the attention of the others. "Stay where you are and identify yourself!"

Kid kept his hands at his sides, but didn't flinch as half of the guns swiveled around to train on him. "Stand down," he said. "I'm placing these two under Shibusen's jurisdiction effective immediately. I ask that they be released into my custody at once."

One officer - a captain, Kid identified by the uniform markings - stepped forward with a hard look at the teenager. "We have warrants for their arrest. Don't interfere!"

"DWMA's accords allow demon weapons to be charged under its laws," Kid answered the challenge evenly; at least he was speaking to someone who potentially had the ability to call off the others. "And I speak with the full authority of Lord Death himself. I'll ask again, please lower your weapons."

 

* * *

Liz felt splinters dig into her back as she leaned against the crate for cover. There were shouts and grunts and the occasional ricochet that didn't sound like it was aimed in their direction.  _What was going on?_  They'd been cornered and now the cops were being  _challenged_ by that scrawny kid they'd accosted earlier. The words hadn't been distinct enough for her to hear what they were saying, and after several moments of battle noise it suddenly went quiet. She raised her sister's form about the edge of the crate. "Patty," she hissed. "Can you see what's happening?"

"Sis," Patty's voice was low and awed. "Look..."

Liz risked a glance, but it turned into a long stare before she slowly got to her feet. "What... the hell..."

The officer's bodies were piled, some groaning, some too stunned to make any noise at all. The black-suited teen was standing atop the pile, brushing away the scant amount of dust that had dared settle on his otherwise impeccable suit, as though the entire battle had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience for him. Almost in a daze, Liz stopped a few feet from the neat -  _neat!_  - pyramid of blue uniforms before she found her voice. "Who the  _ **fuck**_  are you?" she snarled.

His face puckered as though hearing the curse was a physical distaste for him, but he answered, "My name is Death the Kid. I'd like to ask you both to come with me."

"We're not going anywhere with you," Liz said vehemently. Up close, she could see that he wasn't as flawless as she'd first thought. There were scuffs and scrapes and what might've been a stain of blood on the side of his collar. Something had obviously happened between their first meeting and this one. Yet with the way he carried himself, it projected a certain touchless quality. Her lip curled instinctively; she really needed a cigarette, but she also wanted to get away from this freak as soon as possible. "Come on, Patty. Let's go."

"Wait!" The first peak of emotion entered his voice; not even when they'd had a gun shoved in his face had he reacted that strongly. "Please listen to me! I want you both to be my weapons. You two are perfect- no, exquisite!" Liz was just starting to feel flattered (though no less weirded out) when his expression turned blissful and he continued, "You're perfectly symmetrical!"

Instantly, the elder sister's face darkened like a storm cloud. "Patty!  _Now!_ " she barked. Her sister scampered to her side, uncharacteristically quiet as the two of them turned towards the warehouse doors.

Kid scrambled down the pile of unconscious officers and hurried after them. "No, that's a compliment..." he began, reaching for Patty's arm to pull her to a stop. Liz saw it in her peripheral vision and without a second thought, turned and slugged him in the side of the head, hard enough to leave him staggering.

"Don't touch my sister, you son of a bitch! Just leave us alone!"

He backed off, expression wounded and his hands held up to signify his compliance, but Liz was anything but placated. She was  _intimidated_ , because it had been a long time since someone had shown an absolute lack of fear in the presence of the Thompson Sisters. Even the police hadn't dared show up to arrest them tonight without outnumbering them a dozen to one. He tried to speak but Liz cut him off again, maneuvering to keep herself between he and her sister. "I don't believe anything you're saying. For one, who would name someone 'Death the Kid'? Could you have picked a more  _obviously fake_  name? Who do you think you're fool-"

"I'm named after my father, who is the Grim Reaper."

Liz stopped mid-jeer. "Seriously?"

"Yes?" he said, taken aback at her sudden change in tone. Then, apparently believing his response had somehow been impolite, he amended, "Yes, I'm being serious. About my name and about the rest of what I said. I really would like you both to come with me to Death City and become my weapons."

"Is there ice cream?" Patty asked suddenly. "We can go if there's ice cream!"

They both stared at her, he confused and Liz mollified at the reminder that this guy  _should_  have been their target and how badly that had failed, and that her sister was still hungry. "Patty, it's not-"

"PATTY WANTS ICE CREAM!"

"Yes, Death City has ice cream," Kid recovered smoothly, while Liz shot him a glare. "If that's what you'd like in exchange, I can certainly accommodate your request."

And Patty was again all sunshine and smiles, tugging on her sister's arm excitedly. "Sis, let's go! It'll be fun!"

_Ice cream?_  Liz thought, feeling dazed. She wanted to open her mouth and protest, to say  _just how insane_  this all was, but Patty was happy and the kid (Kid?) was offering them his hand (silver skull rings and all) like it was the most natural thing in the world.  _So that's what it comes down to._

But then, sometimes it really was the simple things in life that made the difference.


	2. PART TWO

Liz had a thing with heights.

It really hadn't been much of an issue up until now. Despite the the amount of skyscrapers and high places in New York, she and Patty had always stuck to street level where things were predictable and safe - as safe as the streets got, that was. The highest she could remember being was on the Brooklyn Bridge, watching a meteor shower that was vaguely discernible through the city's light pollution. Patty had listened while Liz rambled off the few tidbits of information that she recalled from the newspaper article where she'd found out about it, and after she was done her sister looked at her admiringly and exclaimed, "You're so smart, Sis!"

Now, soaring high over the Nevada desert, Liz felt an uncomfortable coldness squirming in her stomach despite the dry heat. It had been an awkward conversation when they'd finally agreed to come with this guy. He'd apologized and explained that he had come to New York alone and so didn't have a standard method of transportation like they'd be used to. Instead he'd magicked a skateboard out of his hand and when it had started  _floating_ , Liz nearly called the whole thing off right then.

"This is Beelzebub. He won't hurt you," Kid had said and actually sounded contrite. "If you'll allow me, I can carry you in weapon form until we get to Death City."

"He's cute!" Patty had exclaimed, patting the deck like one would pet a puppy. "And he's got a funny name, gehehehe!"

Patty laughed hysterically as they'd taken to the air, so hard that she'd fallen asleep before they'd cleared Ohio, sleepily content to remain in gunform and ignore the fact that they were rocketing across the sky on a piece of wood no larger than a sewer grate.  _If nothing else,_ Liz thought, risking a glance through her fingers and  _down_  for a few terrifying seconds,  _at least Patty's enjoying herself._

They were about halfway across Nebraska when Liz was finally compelled to break the silence. "Hey, are we really supposed to call you Death the Kid? Because that's kind of a mouthful," she asked and silently added,  _and it's creepy too._

"That's my full name," he replied, never turning his eyes off the horizon. "Just like yours are, I presume, Elizabeth and Patricia."

Even though he wouldn't see it, she made a face. "Don't call us that, just stick with Liz and Patty."

"Then you can call me Kid."

The bland acquiescence didn't sit well with her but she couldn't pinpoint why. She fell quiet again, sinking back into the mantra of  _don't look down don't look down_  and envying her sister's effortless slumber. The silence persisted, broken only as he dutifully informed her that they were passing over Denver and she thought about asking if he'd ever been there, but realized that she'd never get through small talk until she cleared something up first. "Look, this whole thing... it's just a trial, got it? We're not agreeing to anything just yet. We don't even _know_ you. I just wanted to get Patty out of town until police catch that crazy serial killer who's been killing people on the streets."

"It was a witch," he answered, knees bending slightly to compensate for a strong thermal. "That's why I was in New York."

"What was?"

"I killed her," Kid said plainly as though it were a mundane topic. "Her soul is in my possession right now."

_Oh shit._ Liz shivered, starting to regret agreeing to go with him and hoping she hadn't gone from frying pan to fire. "Uh. Well, that's..."

"She was killing innocent people and taking their souls," he answered sternly, his tone making it clear that no further justification was needed in his eyes. That effectively ended the conversation until they cleared the salt flats and presently he said, "If you look up ahead, you can see the city now."

 

* * *

**Gallows Manor, Death City**

They sprang simultaneously from gunform in twin beams of light, Patty still rubbing her eyes sleepily. Kid extended his hand over Beelzebub and the skateboard dissolved into shadows, snaking their way back up into his hand. Liz repressed a shudder and turned to look at the house instead, only to feel her skin crawl as she took in its features. " _This_ is your house?" she exclaimed, feeling dwarfed by the giant skulls molded into the front columns, the red and black terraces and pointed roof spires. "It looks like something out of a horror movie."

Something twitched in Kid's expression, but he said nothing and instead opened the door before stepping to the side and looking at them expectantly. They stared at him until Patty asked innocently, "Whatcha doing?"

Kid was clearly perplexed. "Haven't you ever had anyone hold the door for you before?"

"Of course we have," Liz snapped, her ears burning and she seized Patty's hand and pulled her inside. The foyer was huge, but almost bare.  _Sparse_ , Liz thought the word was supposed to be, but then decided that wasn't it exactly. More like the person or people living there had no personality and viewed the house like a giant stage dressing rather than a place to live. It suited this weird little boy, she thought glumly.

"Would you like me to take your coats?" Kid asked, having already hung up his own.

Patty clutched hers and shook her head. "Nuh-uh! Sis says I gotta wear mine so it don't get stole!"

"'So that it  _doesn't_  get  _stolen_ ," Kid corrected, and Liz shot him a glare for being a snob. "And no one will steal your coat from the closet."

"Even if it won't," Liz interrupted, "it's  _freezing_  in here. How can it be freezing when we're in the middle of the desert? Wait, can you even  _feel_ cold?"

He looked genuinely surprised at the complaint and said apologetically, "Indeed I can, but if it's bothering you, I'd be happy to address it once I've returned. For the moment, I need to inform Father of my mission's success. Please make yourselves at home, I shouldn't be very long."

 

* * *

**Death Room, Shibusen  
**

Kid stepped through the mirror, letting its surface ripple and solidify behind him, and stepped into the guillotine hallway. He found himself squinting slightly as his eyes adjusted to the stark brightness after the dim ambiance of Gallows. The cheer accentuated his weariness, to the point of reminding himself that the corridor was no longer than it had ever been. Carrying Holjda's soul was like wearing a hundred pound weight around his neck. A change of clothes would have helped his mood immensely; Kid knew that he was pushing himself and if he wasn't careful, it would have more serious repercussions than simply needing a good night's rest. But he simply couldn't justify making his father wait any longer, especially since he'd already tarried in convincing the sisters to come with him.

His father was waiting for him on the platform against the backdrop of fake blue sky and clouds, one giant hand popping into existence to greet him with an energetic wave. "Welcome back, Kid!"

"Thank you Father," he answered and without ceremony, produced Holjda's essence and held it out. "The witch's soul."

Shinigami reached out but rather than take the offered soul, guided one squared finger to the side of his son's neck, tilting his head to one side to examine the puncture marks there. "Ran into some trouble?" he asked, careful to keep his voice light and unassuming.

Golden eyes dropped slightly. "You were right when you said that witches were a much more difficult opponent than kishin," Kid said contritely. "I won't be caught unaware next time. I'll work twice as hard to be prepared." His body's healing factor was stubborn and he could  _feel_ the holes trying to close, breaking down the last of the toxins that kept them from scabbing over.

_I wasn't chastising you,_  Shinigami thought to himself, but he knew that Kid would give such an earnest reply even if he voiced that aloud. Instead he took hold of the witch's soul and tucked the violet orb away to be dealt with later. "I'm still proud of you," he said. "But I _do_ have one question. Were you aware that there are two women in our house?" An image of Gallows manifested on his mirror, point of view soaring through the halls until it focused on the two blondes who appeared to be exploring the empty rooms.

"Ah," Kid answered, suddenly sounding like the awkward teen he was again. He fidgeted with his left sleeve cuff, then the right one before answering. "Yes, I was aware. I asked them to accompany me back from New York. I would like them to become my Weapons."

"Both of them?"

His son beamed, excitement momentarily overtaking his fatigue at the very thought. "Yes! They're twin pistols! Exactly identical... so if I use them both at once, I'll be symmetrical!"

Shinigami's mind flashed back to Spirit's speculation that Kid had been rejecting prospective Weapons based on their human form's attractiveness and chuckled, having already long suspected that the strange compulsion for physical balance was behind his refusals. "Well," the elder god mimed a pose of deep thought. "If anyone can pull off using two Weapons simultaneously, it's my boy! Does that mean you want me to hold onto this soul for you? One witch soul is a significant step to a Death Scythe."

Kid shook his head. "Thank you Father, but no. If I choose to make them Death Scythes, it will be - will  _need to_ be - done while they have the same amount of ingested souls."

"Of course~ how silly of me! I'm glad you found someone to take an interest in, Kid. But you've done more than enough for one night. Go home, make sure those young ladies get settled in, and get yourself some rest." He gave the boy an affectionate nudge towards the exit, the eye holes of his mask turning upward fondly as he added, "Sleep well, kiddo."

Kid flushed on principle at the pun on his name, but nodded and murmured his thanks. Shinigami watched him go before his eyes turned back towards the mirror. "Two girls from New York," he said, shaking his head. "I wonder if you know what you're getting into, Kid..."

 

* * *

**Gallows Manor, Death City  
**

The chill in this place -  _Gallows Manor_ , could there be a more ominous name? - was less to do with the temperature and everything to do with how still and pristine the large house was, Liz had decided. It was like walking through a museum... or a tomb. Oblivious to the atmosphere, Patty was swooping down the hallways, arms spread out like wings. "Look Sis," she chortled over her shoulder, "I'm an airplane~ brrrrzzzzt!" which managed to coax a smile from Liz.

"Good girl," she murmured, tentatively trying one of the doors. It swung open just as all the others had, despite her anticipations that they'd be locked. After all, that kid had just left them here with no supervision claiming that he had to 'report his mission' and then disappeared. Her head buzzed angrily, her body demanding a nicotine fix, but the battered cigarette package in her jeans pocket was empty. "I wonder..."

"Wonder what?"

Liz's heart leaped into her throat as she spun around to find Kid standing there, head tilted curiously like he was studying an abstract piece of art. "Sweetjesusfuckingchrist," she exploded, barely restraining the urge to punch him again. "Don't do that! Make some goddamn noise when you're sneaking up on people!"

"Gehehehe," Patty cackled, soaring past them and still in airplane mode. "Scaredy cat, Liz is a scaredy cat!"

"I fail to see anything feline about your sister," Kid began, but quickly decided that wasn't a prudent direction to take and instead cleared his throat, addressing them both. "May I show you both to rooms for the night?" he asked. "I would like you to meet Father tomorrow, but prior to that I think it'd be best if..." He gave them a once over, and coughed before continuing delicately, "you both have acquired a change of clothes."

The elder Thompson bristled silently.  _It's not like we've been living the high life, you spoiled brat,_ the words leaped to mind in their defense - Patty's defense, mostly - but she managed to keep her temper and finally ground out, "Fine. But Patty's going to be staying with me, so just one room is enough."

Kid nodded and guided them in a room that was bigger than some of the apartments they'd crashed in, and a bed that was wider than Liz was tall even when she stretched. He went around and reached up - stood on tiptoes, even Patty was taller than he was - to light the candles in the room. She didn't actually see  _how_ he lit them, only that they went from snuffed to burning with a vague twist of his hand and she filed that question away for later.

"Goodnight," he said politely and closed the door behind him when he left, leaving the sisters alone in a room that seemed suddenly cavernous.

Patty's hand fluttered into her own. "Sis?" she asked. "Are we dreaming?"

_I'm not sure anymore,_  Liz thought.

 

* * *

Liz had always been a light sleeper, an occupational hazard of having grown up on the streets. Although her mind automatically tuned out the clatter of subway cars, taxi horns honking and fire and ambulance sirens, even a light footstep could rouse her and set her protective instincts into gear. Waking in an unfamiliar room had her already on edge and at the sound of movement from the hallway, she slipped from the bed where Patty snored peacefully, having claimed that the sheets were  _so soft_  and  _sis, they smell like candy!_  which had caused a pang of guilt when Liz had realized they simply smelled  _clean_ and it was so foreign to them that Patty didn't know the scent.

Cracking one side of the double doors open, she saw Kid kneeling on the floor with a protractor in hand, measuring what she could only deduce was the angle of the carpet floor runner. A steady stream of words too muffled to make out followed him as he crawled down the hallway, oblivious to his audience. Liz thought about asking what he was doing, but couldn't figure out a good way to phrase it. Eventually he turned the corner and moved out of sight so she closed the door, but lay awake and thinking for a long time.

This boy, Death the Kid... definitely not the smartest person she'd ever met. Over-privileged and a snob, but not terribly intelligent based on his actions so far like leaving them alone in a rich house and whatever that weird behaviour was just now in the hallway. Her fingers brushed Patty's hair absently as she ran possible scenarios through her head.  _Maybe we can use him. String him along, wring him dry._

It sounded like a good plan to her. "Just you wait," she whispered to Patty's sleeping form. "Trust your sister, I'll take care of you."

 

* * *

The scent of something frying, butter and something less definable, lured Patty from her warm cocoon of blankets where she'd burrowed into Liz's side. Her sister was still sleeping and giggling quietly to herself, Patty tiptoed out of the bedroom and down the curving staircase, following the smell. She found Kid standing in the kitchen at a large island, carefully dribbling batter onto a sizzling flat griddle. "Good morning," he greeted without looking up, intense gaze focused on pouring an exact amount. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows, making him look less like a monochrome figurine and more like a real person. "I hope pancakes are all right for breakfast."

"Good morning," she echoed, watching in awe as the edges crackled merrily on the hot surface. "Those smell yummy. And they're really, really round!"

"If their circumference wasn't exact, they'd be abominable. I won't tolerate serving anything less than perfect pancakes," Kid said haughtily.

Patty didn't know what half of those complicated words meant, but nodded. "Um okay," she said. "Did you sleep good?"

"Sleep well," he corrected. "Yes I did, thank you for asking. And yourself?"

"Uh-huh."

Kid teased the tip of the spatula under the edge of the pancake and in one smooth motion, flipped it over before bending over to study it at eye level. "Hmm," he said, examining the bubbling surface critically. "Yes, that's quite acceptable."

Patty decided that Kid was funny, the way that the street performers were funny, like when they made silly expressions and sometimes would give her an animal made of balloons. She remembered when Liz had used some of their money, after robbing a mark with particularly deep pockets, to buy tickets for the zoo. It was Patty's first time seeing the big animals up close, and she remembered how hard she'd laughed at the noises they made even if they smelled funny. Kid was funny like that, except he smelled okay.

Humming to herself, Patty climbed onto one of the tall stools and watched him cook, her feet swinging above the ground. When Kid judged the pancake as done, he delivered it - exactly centered on the round plate - to the table in front of her with a smile. "There," he said, supremely satisfied. "Syrup is ove-"

" _WHERE THE HELL IS MY SISTER, YOU BASTARD?_ " Liz exploded into the kitchen, only to pull up short at the startlingly domestic scene and realize that both Kid and Patty were staring at her. She raked a hand through her hair to comb the sleep-snarled strands and laughed awkwardly. "Uh, never mind. Are those pancakes?"

 

* * *

Death City was built unlike any city she'd ever seen. It was designed in rings with each stacked on top of the next and a castle-like structure at the top. "That's Shibusen," Kid explained, leading them through the winding cobbled streets with ease. He seemed to know exactly where they were going, although he'd provided only a cryptic  _shopping trip_ when they'd asked while leaving the house.

"It's kinda like a sundae!" Patty exclaimed. "And Chubbysun is the cherry on the top!" Finding her own analogy hilarious, she dissolved into giggles, ignoring Kid's consternation as he tried to correct her.

" _Shibusen_. Or if you prefer, DWMA. It stands for-"

Liz narrowed her eyes at him. "Nobody cares, rich boy," she snorted. "Don't fill Patty's head with useless shit."

The suited boy pursed his lips and finally said, "There's really no need for that kind of language, you know. The vulgarity doesn't suit you at all."

She nearly retorted that  _adults_ spoke that way all the time, but with effort reminded herself that she needed him to think positively of them if they were going to take advantage of his money and status. So she swallowed her vitriol and smiled fakely at him. "Aw. That's sweet of you to say."

Kid guided them to a store tucked neatly away on one of the curving streets, where women's clothing lined racks on both sides and the shopkeeper welcomed them enthusiastically. Despite reminding herself that she needed to be careful, Liz found herself getting caught up in the enjoyment, pulling things from the hangers and holding them up to herself. From the corner of her eye, she caught Kid speaking with the store owner, who was nodding respectfully; she wondered what was being said.

"Patty," she said instead, "look at this nice dress, how about you try it on?" Her sister took the hanger from her and then went prancing away towards the dressing room.  _Shoes, we could both use a new pair,_  she thought.  _And Patty needs a proper bra, and..._

Kid appeared at her elbow, having already forgotten or simply disregarded her terms to make noise on approach. "The proprietor has offered to bring anything out from the stock room if you don't find everything you need," he stated. "So don't hesitate to ask if you're not satisfied."

"How much?"

He stopped, puzzled by the abrupt question. "Pardon? How much what?"

Liz glanced at the dressing room, noting her sister's socks peeking out from beneath the curtain and knowing that she was out of immediate hearing range, but lowered her voice anyway. "How much are we going to owe you for this? Whatever you want, you ask it from  _me_ and not my sister, got it?"

A frown creased Kid's brow as he processed her words. "You don't owe anything," he answered. "You both needed new attire and I'd like for you to choose as much as you feel you need for immediate use and we'll build you a longer term wardrobe once you're settled in."

"I don't just mean for the clothes."

"Then I'm not sure I follow."

Liz wanted to pull at her hair. This guy couldn't  _seriously_ be that naive, could he? But she was saved from having to elaborate as Patty came skipping up to them, the pink sundress over only one shoulder and her reaching ineffectually for the zipper in the back, making her breasts bounce prominently. "Sis! How's it look?"

When she noticed that Kid's yellow eyes had averted to study the tops of his shoes and as Liz helped Patty adjust the dress properly, she had to wonder if maybe he  _was_  that clueless.

 

* * *

Kid was pacing in the large foyer of Gallows, waiting for the sisters and checking his pocket watch every minute as his tension continued to mount. He'd never been late for anything and he'd certainly  _never_  been late for a meeting with his honorable father, but if those two didn't show up in the next  _two minutes_ -

"Okay, we're ready to go."

Exhaling in relief, Kid turned to face the Thompsons as they descended the staircase... but the relief turned to ice in his stomach.  _Blue shirt, yellow shirt. Long jeans, short jeans. Hair straight. Hair curled._  Despair filled him as he took an unsteady step forward. "I can't take you to see Father like that," he exclaimed. "You don't match at all! Why couldn't you wear the same things? Go right back upstairs and change and for goodness sake  _please_ hurry or we'll be la-"

"Are. You. GODDAMN.  _FUCKING. **KIDDING ME?**_ "

His words tumbled over each other, like he was trying to voice too many thoughts at the same time. " _Please_  don't take Father's name in- there's no need for that langua- you're perfectly symmetrical in weapon form so you should  _at least_ try to-"

"Like you're one to talk about symmetry!" Liz raged, thrusting a finger at him. Her head was pounding from nicotine withdrawal and the creepy house had her looking over her shoulder all the time. It was bad enough that he kept correcting them whenever he felt that their grammar was wrong but if he was going to be this obnoxious all the time, she would be adding attempted murder to her standing New York warrant. "Are you like a vampire or something and can't see your own reflection? Those stupid stripes in your hair are only  _halfway around_! That's like the most un-symmetrical thing I've ever seen!"

"The term is  _asymm-_ " Kid began irritably, but the words died in his throat and he turned (though Liz could scarcely believe it possible) even paler than he already was, staring at her in horror as what she'd said registered.

"What?" she asked, spooked by the reaction. Even Patty had stopped, one shoe on and one hanging with laces untied. "Come on, don't tell me you didn't notice that until n-  _oh my god are you crying?_ "

The sisters could only stare in shock at Kid as he sank to his knees, hands covering his face, voice muffled through unhappy sobs. "You're right!" he bawled, dropping his head against the immaculate floor tiles. "I can't even balance myself! How can I be trusted to tell other people what's symmetrical? I'm despicable! Abominable! Put me out with the trash..."

Patty scooted towards him on her hands and knees and poked his shoulder curiously. "Hey," she said. "You gonna be all right?" Kid made no indication that he heard her and Liz watched the quick change of her sister's face as concern turn into anger when she was ignored. " _Hey asshole,_ " she began again. "I'm trying to be nice to you!"

It was an abrupt enough shift in attitude to jar Kid from his puddle of misery, his head jerking up to stare at her. Liz, who was more used to Patty's occasional moods like this, was less concerned but definitely made a note that it was just as effective on Kid as it had always been on her. For his part, the boy seemed to be weighing the wisdom of continuing his tantrum, but eventually sat back on his heels and then got back to his feet, straightening the skull clasp at his collar with a sulky look.

"Very well," Kid sighed and Liz was galled that he actually had the nerve to sound  _inconvenienced_ by the whole debacle. He walked to the tall, black-framed mirror that stretched at least ten feet up and touched the glass. It rippled and their reflections disappeared, replaced by blue sky and tall square arches at regular intervals. "I'll ask you to be respectful," he said sternly. "Also, you should address Father as 'Lord Death'. He's an extremely important person and should be shown proper deference."

Liz bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying the first things that came to her mind, but since Patty was nodding enthusiastically as she poked at the mirror's surface - giggling as her fingers disappeared  _into_ the glass - she decided to let it go for the moment. The glare she had planned to shoot him softened when he offered Patty a polite hand so that she could keep her balance as she stepped up and over the bottom of the frame before offering the same to Liz. "You're weird, rich boy," she said, ignoring the offer of assistance and stepping through. The glass felt like a cool liquid against her skin and then she emerged into a long hallway. Up close, she saw that the squared arches were actually angled by the sharp blades dangling over their heads, looking ready to fall at the slightest provocation. "W-What is this place?"

"The Death Room."

"Ugh. I'm really sensing a theme in names around this place..."

There was a tall black form waiting for them on a circular platform at the end of the walkway and they halted at the edge of it, Liz's hand closing just inside the crook of Patty's elbow to keep her still while Kid showed no hesitation in stepping up. She thought,  _how can they be father and son? they don't look anything alike!_ because aside from the similar monochromatic palette, she couldn't spot any obvious shared features. For one, Lord Death looked in no way human but rather like a spiky black cactus topped by a cartoonish mask; she'd always thought that the familiar skull logo so widely adopted on everything was a cutesy version of the real thing... apparently it was accurate in detail. Yet even as she watched, he and Kid seemed to move in tandem, almost like they were orbiting each other... a dip of the head here, a bend of the arm there, like they knew where the other was without even needing to look. It was really quite startling - and so distinctly different from the suddenly-seeming clumsy movements of humans - that she almost missed her own introduction.

"Father, this is Elizabeth and Patricia Thompson."

"Hello hello~" Shinigami waved an enormous hand at them, bouncing in place like he was attached to a pogo stick, and Liz felt nervous laughter bubble up her throat. "It's very nice to meet you girls-" Kid cleared his throat very quietly, an almost-silent reprimand, and the god immediately amended, "-young ladies for the first time! I'm pleased that you're going to-"

"You're the Grim-motherfucking-Reaper!" Patty interrupted enthusiastically, throwing her hand up in the air, palm out.

Complete and utter silence reigned in the Death Room. Kid could've swallowed a city bus with how wide his mouth was hanging open, and Liz felt her stomach turn to jello.  _Patty, Patty, Patty! Why did you have to pick **now**  to recognize... he's not a celebrity!_

And then Shinigami dropped his white hand against Patty's tiny one. "You've got that right!" he answered cheerfully.

"Yeah!" the younger sister shouted.

"Right back at you!"

Liz started to laugh so hard that she began to wheeze, arms wrapped around her stomach as the butterflies disappeared and had to sit down on the edge of the platform. "Father," Kid sounded strangled, but seeing Shinigami engaged in a high five contest drew a smile with him, and whatever he'd been about to say was never voiced, and he stood shaking his head in bemusement instead.

_This is crazy,_  Liz thought, feeling a little giddy. She caught Kid looking at her, and gave him a tiny nod.  _And, at least for the moment, somehow I'm okay with it._


	3. PART THREE

**Gallows Manor, Death City**

The basis of humor was repetition, or at least that was the saying. Liz was finding it incredibly true as she and Patty struggled to suppress their giggles, watching through the cracked door as Kid pounded up and down the hallways in his blue pinstripe pajamas, frantically aligning all the picture frames in the house. There was one directly across the hallway from their shared bedroom, and they'd been taking turns tilting it to one side after learning that part of Kid's nightly routine was to check all the rooms for their symmetrical aesthetic. Apparently discovering that one thing out of alignment equaled the possibility of  _everything_ out of alignment, causing him to start from the far end of the large house all over again.

He disappeared around the corner and Liz nudged Patty forward. "Your turn! To the left this time?" She figured it was a great chance to reinforce Patty's basic worldly skills like telling left from right. Patty skipped to the wall and gave the picture a sharp tilt, correctly to the left as suggested, then came scampering back so Liz could ruffle her hair. "Okay, that's the last time for tonight."

Predictably Kid was back several minutes later with an unhappy moan as he measured the frame again, not even noticing the thin beam of light disappearing as the Thompson's door closed.

 

* * *

The next morning there were crepes for breakfast. After showing Patty how to fill the thin shell with fruit preserves and topping it off with at least a pound of whipped cream, Liz beelined for a coffeemaker only to discover that it looked like it had never been used. "You've got to be kidding me..." she muttered under her breath. Caffeine was the cheapest of drugs, but like the more illicit substances she'd built a dependency on, her body craved it even after a full night's rest. She raised her voice to address Kid. "Hey Stripes, does this thing even work?"

When he quivered, she remembered belatedly that mentioning the strange lines in his hair had caused a breakdown just the day before. Liz held her breath, expecting another meltdown... but with appeared to be a herculean effort, he managed to nod and instead direct his focus on measuring the coffee into the filter while she waited.  _Wow..._  Liz's thoughts were snide, the attitude an instinctive defense against the uneasy pang his stricken expression had caused.  _I wonder how Lord Death got stuck with **him**  for a son..._

Patty's cheerful humming wasn't enough to fill the long silence (she could've sworn he was counting the  _individual grinds_ ) so she asked lamely, "So, uh. You going to be making breakfast for us every day?"

"If you'd like. I'm usually up early, so it's not a problem to have it prepared."

Liz regarded him critically, noting the tiny drawn lines at the corners of his eyes which suggested that his antics had continued long after the sisters had fallen asleep. He really was dense if he hadn't figured out who — in a house that  _only had_  three people in it — was responsible, she thought. That was the only explanation for him turning around and bribing them with a fancy breakfast. "You look like you could use some coffee too," she said. "Late night, huh?"

He didn't answer her (which was answer enough) and with the push of a button, suddenly the machine sprang to life and within seconds the heady smell of Colombian roast began filling the kitchen. "Oh thank god," Liz exhaled.

"Hey hey hey Sis," Patty chimed, her mouth smeared with whipped cream and the plate in front of her empty. The sugar had kicked in, making her bounce in the tall chair as her legs drummed against the table. "These are really yummy! Are you gonna have some? Kid, are you gonna have some? Are we gonna have fun today? Can we can we can we can—"

The rest of the outburst was muffled as Liz took a washcloth to her sister's face, trying to clean her up. She knew she was mothering and could feel Kid's cool stare on the back of her neck, but ignored it and said instead, "Go change and find some shorts, it looks like it's going to be warm today."

"'KAY!"

"Your sister..." Kid began, after Patty had obediently raced up the staircase and they heard the slam of the bedroom door. "She's..."

"She's  _what_?"

He met her frigid blue stare unwaveringly. "She seems like she can be quite a challenge to take care of," he commented.

It was a carefully chosen euphemism, one that should've made her feel better except for the surge of protectiveness that welled inside of her. Liz felt her hands ball into fists but restrained her automatic urge to snap out a biting retort. Instead she forced out, "Well she's  _my_ challenge to take care of. Don't get involved."

Kid tilted his head to one side to study her, taking in her posture and tense set of her jaw, and merely nodded.

 

* * *

The backyard had been set up with a number of targets, spaced at regular distances and with a variety of shapes and sizes. Liz gave it a quick walk through while Patty lay sprawled on the already-warming grass, hands cupping her chin as she watched an ant hill. "Looks good," the elder sister finally allowed, walking back to Kid who gave her a fleeting smile that disappeared when she glared at him. "Okay, what do you know about guns? Have you ever fired one before?"

"No."

"Have you ever  _held_  a gun?"

Kid shook his head and Liz gave a groan. "Great. All right, pay attention. We're semi-automatics, so one shot for each trigger pull and the recoil would load the next cartridge in the magazine. That means that we can fire at a higher rate of speed than say, a revolver." Intercepting the question implied by his slightly furrowed brow, she amended, "I say 'would load' because we don't actually fire real bullets. Patty?"

Beaming, Patty sat up and thrust an arm into the air, exclaiming, "'Kay!" before her body dissolved into light and arced across the yard, landing in Liz's outstretched hand to solidify into the sleek lines of her pistol form. Her face reflected in the metallic shine of the barrel. "See Kid? All you gotta do is think about it, and then—  _bang bang!_ "

"That's... actually pretty accurate," Liz admitted. "There really isn't much to think about. I guess it's more like instinct than anything. We never really gave much thought to the how part of it." She aimed Patty straight into the air, and pulling the trigger, shot a volley of magenta tracers into the sky.

Kid watched attentively, then his gaze changed —  _sharpened_  — and he requested, "Could you again...?" After the next round of shots had vanished into the cloudless sky, Kid put a hand to his chin, his yellow eyes losing that unusual gleam which they would later come to understand was how he changed from a passive Soul Perception to an active one. "It's your soul wavelength, but compacted. Compressed, would actually be a better term."

"Is that good or bad?"

He spread his hands, the morning sunlight glinting off the identical rings on his two middle fingers. "Unfortunately, it can't be divided into plain terms like that. There are aspects on both sides, positive and negative factors. Projectile demon weapons aren't as common as bladed or blunt types, even gathered in a place like Shibusen. Because you don't use a conventional type of ammunition, you wouldn't have to worry about running out in the middle of a battle. That's certainly a positive side to things. On the other hand, the bullets you fire are literally being siphoned off of your soul, which  _could_  have a negative effect on you, long-term. However by looking at both of your souls, I can see that hasn't been the case. That's unusual, but I suspect it has something to do with your being siblings. I think that when you wield each other, you're actually replenishing each other's wavelengths. May I ask, who normally is the meister?"

"Sometimes Patty is!" came the happy voice from the the pistol. "And sometimes Liz is! But usually Patty when Sis is being scared of the dark!"

"I'm  _not_ scared of—" Liz balked, but Patty was already chortling. "Whatever. So you're saying that if we weren't sisters, we wouldn't be able to use each other?"

"I believe that you would still be able to," Kid answered carefully. "But that you would be much more easily worn down by it. It's good that you're able to avoid that problem."

She thought about that, her thumb rubbing over Patty's trigger guard thoughtfully. While she didn't doubt that she could learn a lot about hers and Patty's weapon forms from this boy, at the same time she was content just to ignore the technical details and share in a bond that only she and her sister could have. It had served them well enough since they'd started living on the streets. "They teach you all that at the fancy school?"

"No, I don't attend."

Liz stopped, blinking in surprise. "But uh, isn't it your dad that runs it?"

"There's no need for me to take the classes as I already know their content, and Father personally dispatches the missions that I take," Kid elaborated. His gaze traveled back to Liz and she realized with a start that he was silently awaiting her permission before he even attempted to reach for Patty. Grudgingly she allotted him an iota of respect for understanding that, if he'd presumptuously made the first move himself, she'd probably have punched him again... but even knowing that, she was still reluctant.

"Okay, hold out your hand," she ordered before placing Patty's grip in his palm. She could tell that he was surprised at the weight, and the solid stock was almost bigger than the span of his hand. "Hmm," she mused, taking another look at Kid. Being tall for her age, she had simply dismissed him as being short but upon closer inspection, she realized he was just plain  _small_  and her brow furrowed. "I don't know if you're even going to be able to handle the recoil."

"I'll be able to," he said firmly. Liz rolled her eyes and stepped back, pointing at one of the targets across the yard. Kid took a deep breath, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

_Click._

The look of sudden disbelief on Kid's face made her snort, even though she was confused as well. Laughter erupted from the gun in Patty's voice as she exclaimed, "Kid, you forgot the _bang bang_ part!"

"A misfire," Liz said, unimpressed.  _So much for Lord Death's prodigal son_ , she scoffed silently. "Patty, what happened?"

"I can't feel him at all, Sis! Kid's all locked up tight!"

Feeling left out of the conversation, Kid was anxiously going over what could have possibly gone wrong. Perhaps arrogance, perhaps merely self-assurance, but the idea that he might not be capable of wielding the sisters in gunform had never crossed his mind. He was a shinigami! There shouldn't have been any demon Weapon that he wasn't able to use! An uneasiness seized him, spawned by a deep-seated insecurity: was he inept as his father's son? Was he simply a failure as a potential meister? What other explanation—

"Hey.  _Hey_ ," Liz flicked Kid's forehead to get his attention. He started, yellow eyes going round at the abrupt contact, but it worked to draw him out of his thoughts. "Pay attention and stop spacing out! I said, just try again. But you've got to let her  _use_  your soul, right? Otherwise there's nothing to shoot."

Kid nodded despite his uncertainty, not sure how he was supposed to unlock his soul. He took a breath to center himself, and then raised the sight to draw a bead on the target again. This time, the recoil almost snapped Patty right out of his hand and drew a hiss of pain from him. The shot went wildly off the mark and, had it been an actual bullet, would have put a hole in the side of the manor.

"Told you," Liz said, supremely unsympathetic. "But at least it wasn't a misfire."

"Then it's progress," Kid answered stubbornly, even as his wrist throbbed. "Please let me try again."

 

* * *

They practiced persistently for the next three days. To show him how they'd taught themselves, Liz and Patty took turns transforming and shooting the other, swapping midair with perfect timing and hitting the targets with ease while Kid looked on with undisguised admiration. The awe on his face was both exhilarating and somehow, humbling. They were used to being looked at in fear, and maybe even a grudging respect that came from balking at the law, but it had never been a genuine reaction. This...  _this_  came without pretense.

Though he never said anything, Liz could tell that Kid was in considerable pain from the repeated strain on his wrists, and caught the grimaces he thought he was adeptly hiding when their backs were turned. The weight of the guns combined with the snap back from firing sometimes caused him to drop them, especially when he tried firing them both at the same time. He always apologized even though Patty pointed out that it didn't hurt them to land on the soft grass. The power of the recoil was also dependent on how much power he "loaded" each shot with, and on the fourth day the hand holding Liz could take no more strain, and they heard the bones splinter under the force.

Kid sank to the ground with a soft, shaking exhale, setting Patty down first and then using his uninjured left hand to carefully disengage unresponsive fingers from Liz's trigger. Both of them sprang back into human form and Liz blew a frustrated breath out through her teeth, leaning down to get a better look. "Goddamn," she said. "Patty, go in the house and see if you can find a first aid kit."

"There's no need," Kid said, looking up at them. "It'll heal. We should continue—"

"Bullshit," Liz spat. "We're done for today."

Dinner that night was a quiet affair. Declaring that Kid was unfit to cook despite his protestations that he was fine, Liz had taken charge and ordered two large pizzas; the delivery man flatly refused to take payment for the order. "Um, thanks?" she called after him before carrying the boxes inside. "I guess we got some free pizza."

"Most of the store owners in the city won't charge for their services out of respect for Father," Kid said quietly, taking place settings down for them from the cupboard. His normal dexterity was hampered by the bandages which padded both of his wrists. Even though only one had broken, he'd insisted to the point of begging that they wrap both of them so that they'd match.

Patty's eyes widened. "So we can have free pizza every night?" she squealed.

"If we eat pizza every night, I'm going to be gross and fat," Liz groaned. "A girl's got to watch her figure."

"It's fine."

"No it's  _not_  fine Kid," Liz retorted, rounding on him angrily. "Let's get something straight here, asshole. You don't get to dictate what my sister's allowed to eat, or wear, or anything else because that's  _my_ —"

"Your figure, I meant."

Her rising voice ended in a gurgle as Liz choked on her tirade, making Patty lean over and give her several whacks across her back under the mistaken impression she was having trouble swallowing.  _Was that supposed to have been a compliment?_  she wondered, but there was no coyness she could discern in the way he was looking at her. "Excuse me?"

Kid blinked at her. "Please don't misunderstand," he explained. "I wouldn't want pizza every night either. I just don't think it would having it occasionally would affect your physique at all."

Her anger completely derailed, the blond managed an awkward "thank you", and the rest of the night was calm.

 

* * *

The next day they set up the targets again, although clouds had gathered overhead and a brisk breeze from the west promised storm later on. Kid was walking up and down the rows of cutout figures, flexing his hands absently, deep in thought.  _They way they behave as guns isn't unlike the way they act as people,_  he thought to himself, adjusting the alignment of one of the wooden stands by a few millimeters.  _They strike back at everything. Trying to hold them steady is like trying to to tie them down, which they resent._

He pictured the crosshatched grip in his own hand, wrist flexing backwards in slow motion as he mimed the shape of the pistol in his grasp. The weight of their gunforms wasn't the precise problem, he decided, but that his hands were too small to grip them properly. Liz had measured Patty's hands against his own and to his chagrin and the younger's raucous laughter, his were the smaller.

Without a firm hold, the recoil couldn't be managed. As much as Kid hated to admit it, perhaps Liz was right. Maybe he just couldn't handle them, these beautiful and defiant New York girls.

"Kiiiiiiiiid," Patty called. "Are you gonna stand there all day?" He turned to see her in the middle of a handstand, grinning cheekily at him, upside down with her legs bent to try and maintain her balance — which she ultimately lost and went toppling over into the grass, giggling.

"That's it," he breathed.

"Uh-oh," Liz muttered, nervous at the beaming expression Kid wore as he hurried towards them. "What's that look for?"

He paused just long enough to straighten his shirt cuffs, looking up at her with the most excitement she'd seen since that night in the warehouse when he stood atop a pile of unconscious bodies. "I believe I've figured out a way to compensate for my inefficiency. If you'll please transform, I'm eager to test it."

 _He always says please when he asks,_  Liz thought, willing herself to shift even as Patty did likewise beside her. They angled towards his outstretched hands, but when he caught them they were surprised to find themselves upside down. "H-Hey!"

Patty gave a low growl, the effect like that of an angry teddy bear. "That hurt! I banged my head, meanie."

"You did? I'm sorry," Kid said, lifting their barrels to see their faces. "What was there to hit your head on—? I didn't realize you could feel an orientation in this form. Can you right yourselves?"

There was some shuffling and muted grumbling as they rearranged themselves; being in weapon form was like floating but as with being underwater, there was still the sense of  _up_  and  _down_. Finally they voiced their assent and Kid tentatively lifted them, aiming them — now without the aid of their barrel sights — on the standing targets. A brief pause as he realized that he'd have to use his pinky fingers to pull their triggers, but he would not be deterred.

"Bang bang," he said.

 

* * *

From that point on, their practice sessions went more smoothly. Although unconventional, Kid's modified grip allowed him to let gravity take the majority of the recoil, and with that problem solved he could focus on his accuracy. It took some practice, both Liz and Patty were able to adjust their sense of bearing, and overcome the vertigo caused by Kid's dexterous spinning. By the end of the second week, he could sweep through the obstacle course of targets, hitting them each twice. "They're cardboard," Liz had pointed out after one such gamut. "You don't exactly need a double tap to take them down."

"Using two shots is symmetrical," was his reply while she rolled her eyes. "Besides, kishin are not made of cardboard, so what seems like a little excess is hardly a detriment."

For the sisters, it was taking some time to get used to using a soul not their own for shots. Patty finally confronted him with her hands on her hips. "You taste funny, Kid."

"She means your soul," Liz quickly amended, seeing the baffled look on his face. "You know, when we're shooting. And you do, kinda — like a really, really dark chocolate almost... just at the point before it stops being sweet." Realizing that sounded intensely personal, she flicked the ends of her hair and added with forced nonchalance, "If you were wondering."

"Ah," he relaxed. "Well, that's likely due to my not being human. I am a reaper, after all."

The Thompsons weren't so sure. For one thing, Kid did everything just as a human would: eating, sleeping, brushing his teeth. That wasn't to say that there weren't discrepancies — Liz had nearly had a heart attack when she discovered his eyes were reflective in the dark, having found him wandering the halls while on her way to get a midnight snack — but aside from small peculiarities, they were able to largely put from their minds the implications of  _he's not human_  into the back of their minds.

And then there was the symmetry.

"Hey Kid," Liz said conversationally, arms folded as she stood at the foot on the ladder upon which Kid balanced precariously, leaning his skinny frame towards the roof line. "What are you doing?"

"Counting," he answered distractedly, biting his lower lip. "I-I think there's an uneven number of rows of shingles on the roof. I can't believe I didn't think to check before! I'm so useless... a disgrace..."

 _I'm getting tired of dealing with these fits of his,_  Liz thought derisively.  _He sure lives up to his name, since he practically needs a babysitter._  Aloud, she merely smiled and said, "Can I borrow your wallet? Patty and I are going to walk down to the convenience store, she wants an ice cream cone. Do you want us to bring you back one?" She reversed the story easily, since she'd told her sister that they'd need to pick up some snacks for later and earned Patty's immediate and sunny agreement.

Kid stopped his self-deprecation mid-sentence, blinking at her owlishly. "You'd...?" A hesitant smile showed briefly, and then, "Thank you Liz. I'd like that very much. It's in the center drawer of my desk."

"Mmhmm, no problem. You just keep counting, you're doing a great job." She couldn't keep all the traces of sarcasm out of her voice, though he didn't seem to notice. She went back inside to to the office adjoining the library, deftly removed the card — embossed with a skull symbol, just like everything else he owned — and examined it closely. It wasn't the first time she'd been granted permission to use it, sometimes in Kid's presence and sometimes not. He seemed absurdly naive when it came to trusting them, something Liz was grateful for. It allowed her to use these opportunities for her own agenda.

Calling for Patty, together they left Gallows and wound their way through the narrow streets, eventually leaving the faint echoes of Kid's unhappy laments about needing to re-shingle the roof behind. Just in case they were being watched, Liz made sure their first stop was the promised convenience store, where she did get Patty a triple scoop cone and a wad of napkins. But after that, they headed along the route Liz had memorized until they reached the bus station on one of the lower city rings. Death City had only a few roads which branched out from where it sat across the long, shimmering Nevada desert.  _It's like being marooned on an island,_  she thought gloomily.

The bus station doors parted with a  _whoosh_  of cold air, and she cast a suspicious glance over her shoulder before heading straight for a bank of cash machines along one wall. "Patty, wait on that bench for me," she said. Her sister obeyed, still noisily slurping the ice cream which had softened in the heat, while Liz waited impatiently for the electronic request to process. From the first time she'd watched Kid use this card, she knew it didn't work like an ordinary withdraw; there was no PIN code and no account balance displayed on the screen. Feeling a chill work its way across her shoulders, she punched in an amount and then, with a thrill of defiance, added an extra zero to the end — then another — and heart pounding, selected  _Withdraw_.

No flashing lights or blaring alarms rewarded her illicitness; instead the machine hummed and whirred, and then spat out a stack of crisp green bills. It felt a bit anticlimactic, Liz thought as she gathered them together neatly. On the opposite wall was a double-stacked row of luggage lockers, intended for travelers whose buses were delayed but also available for general storage. On their second day in Death City, Liz had rented one under a false name and paid with the tiny bit of cash still in her pocket from their most recent Brooklyn mugging.

The locker was stuffed with a long brown duffel, which she pulled out and dropped to the floor. "Did you remember to put two of something on today?" she asked her sister.

Patty pouted, kicking off her shoes to reveal a double layer of socks. Liz made a face, but nodded in encouragement — sometimes Patty forgot her instructions, so the fact that she had remembered was reason enough to praise her. "Okay, pass 'em over."

The socks joined the other tightly folded clothing inside the duffel bag, then Liz peeled off a second t-shirt and shoved that inside as well before withdrawing a thick wad of rolled bills, held by a rubber band. "Ooooh," Patty said hungrily, staring at the cash. Liz admitted she felt the same — it was more money than they'd ever had at one time in their whole lives; maybe even more than they'd ever had in all their years combined on the street. Liz was betting this was enough money to go anywhere and do anything they wanted... and to escape Death City, if it came to that.

"Remember, you can't tell Kid about this," she told her sister sternly, the same warning she repeated every time they squirreled more away in their stash. "And if he asks, all we did while we were gone was get ice cream and walk around. That's it."

"'Kaaaaaaay."

When they returned to Gallows, Liz apologized earnestly for 'forgetting' to buy Kid his promised ice cream, pretending not to notice the faint look of disappointment that crossed his features, and laughed the whole way up to hers and Patty's room.


	4. Part 4

**Gallows Manor, Death City**

Each day after that became a war against the danger of routine.

Every morning when they awoke, there would be breakfast waiting for them on the table and fresh coffee brewing for Liz. Most days Kid would sit with them during breakfast, methodically perusing the eight newspapers which had arrived before sunrise from all over the world: four in English from various major cities, one apiece in Cyrillic, Arabic, Cantonese and the local Death Times. When one morning he discovered that his neat stack had been torn apart when Patty went looking for something to colour on, new ground rules were set and from then onward, all the comic pages were folded neatly next to Patty's plate and all the gossip columns and celebrity news ready beside Liz's.

"You can read those?" Liz asked one morning over her plate of toast. "How'd you learn Chinese?"

"I can speak and read all languages," Kid replied absently, as though that astounding ability were as common as having a certain eye colour. "I inherited them from Father."

Liz wasn't sure how someone could inherit a language, but the strangeness of the comment was something that she appreciated because it gave her a foothold. It was getting too easy to forget that this was  _just a scam_  and  _only temporary_ , lulled by the spacious and quiet manor, the worlds-improved diet from what she and Patty had lived on before, the easy bribery of letting someone else shoot them for a few hours a day — but they still weren't free. Rather than being shackled by their homelessness to streets of New York (for despite their bravado, they were not as gleeful with that life as they liked to portray), they were now tied to a scrawny boy with yellow eyes and textbook OCD, even if he did appear to cater to them.

There were still pitfalls, however.

On a whim Liz had decided to buy some nail polish — a scarlet red appropriately branded  _Harlot_  — and she and Patty spent the afternoon on the shaded back patio, dabbing it onto their fingers and toes, their enthusiasm exceeding their lack of practice. Kid had called through the open kitchen window to ask if they wanted lemonade and Liz had actually had the fleeting thought of  _what a perfect day_  until several moments later he had emerged and seen their artistry firsthand.

The tray he was carrying dropped to the ground, the cups (plastic, thankfully) bouncing on the concrete steps, spilling a sudden flood of lemonade toward them. "What are you—?" Kid said hoarsely, staring at the sisters in horror. "What... what have you done to your hands?"

"Excuse me?" Liz snapped, unconsciously putting herself between Kid and Patty. "No one asked your opinion, asshole."

As always, her epithets glided past his recognition without any visible impact. His eyes tracked spasmodically to the smears and smudges between the two of them, the small puddle where the bottle had tipped over between their giggles and showing off their splayed hands. "T-They're uneven! I demand that they be redone at once!  _I'll_  redo them for you, just—"

Liz was on her feet in an instant, grabbing Kid by the collar and smiling sweetly over her shoulder with, "Stay there Patty, we'll be right back!" before hauling him inside and shoving him into the wall as she'd done against the brick of a dirty Brooklyn alley.

"You and me are going to get something straight right this minute," she snarled, jabbing her knuckles into his windpipe so she wouldn't have to hear him correct  _it's you and_   _ **I**_  in that infuriating way he always did. "I don't know how you managed to miss this, but you have problems. Really serious, fucked-up-in-the-head problems! I don't care if you clean the whole house with a comb and a toothpick, or if you sneak into our room and organize our drawers and  _how did you think we wouldn't notice that_  but you will  _not_  push your issues on me and Patty. Especially Patty!"

His eyes were wide; the slight pigment of his complexion had deserted him completely. Liz felt the rise and fall of his throat against her hand as he swallowed. "The next time you act like my sister's done something wrong because it doesn't fit with  _your_  brain damaged worldview, we're out of here.  _Gone_  and you'll never see us again. Do I make myself clear?" She stared hard at him, secretly thrilled to be able to use such a dramatic line, half expecting monsters to rise up out of the shadows in his defense.

Instead he nodded — as best he could with her fist jammed under his chin — and managed, "I understand, Liz." When she released him, Kid forced himself to look away from her hands where the scarlet polish taunted him. "I-I won't say anything about Patty. I don't want you to leave, so... I'll make it right."

"I'm sure you will," Liz smiled, but her blue eyes were still cold.  _It's amazing,_  she thought,  _that I can point Patty at him and he's not scared, but as soon as we threaten to leave..._  She let him go and straightened the collar of his shirt in a mockery of his usual fastidiousness. "So how about some more lemonade?"

Kid nodded again, so she turned and sauntered back outside. Neither of them noticed the curl of black shadow in the corner of the hallway mirror.

* * *

**Gallows Manor  
** **Three weeks later**

Patty was laying on her stomach in front of the TV, legs kicking in the air and watching late night cartoons when Shinigami came gliding into the living room. "Hiya!" she exclaimed, sitting up with a grin. "Are you here for cookies? Sis said I could have a lot if I wanted! You want one?"

The god coiled himself down like a compressed spring. "Don't mind if I do!" he said, taking one from the plate she held, pinching it between his square fingertips. "Thank you Patty! Do you know where Kid is?"

"Ummm..." the blond girl chewed thoughtfully. "He's readin', I think. Kid really likes books, huh?"

His cookie had disappeared though she hadn't caught exactly where it'd gone. "He sure does," Shinigami said agreeably, standing again to his full height. "Don't eat so many cookies that you get a tummy ache!" he noted cheerfully. "Thanks again~ see you later."

"Bye-bye!"

_What a sweet girl_ , Shinigami mused to himself as he glided up the master staircase.  _Both of them are, in their own way. I hope Kid recognizes it as well._

* * *

Liz bumped into Kid as he was exiting the library but rather than look annoyed at nearly being run over, he looked up at her with a beaming smile. "Liz, excellent timing," he enthused. "Father was just here; he's asked that we go to New Orleans. There's a report that a ghoul has been attacking people from the levees. We should leave immediately."

He said it with such an upbeat tone that she felt her skin crawl; logically she knew that he wasn't  _pleased_  at the situation he'd just described, that the good cheer was only due to (what he surely saw as) their partnership taking a developmental step, but...

_A ghoul has been attacking people..._

Liz's mind flashed back to the first night that she and Patty had met Kid, with blood staining his his shirt cuffs and the calm statement of  _it was a witch; I killed her; her soul is in my possession_  like there was nothing more normal in the whole world. She was about to put herself and - more importantly Patty - right in the thick of that. She realized that Kid was looking at her expectantly and before she knew it, she was shaking her head.

"No way," she said. "It's too dangerous. I won't allow Patty to get mixed up in scary shit like ghouls. You can go if you want, but we're staying here."

Kid stared, well and truly speechless at the declaration. "Liz..." he began but she cut him off with a vehement scowl. The clock in the main hall began to mark the hour, the low-toned knells reverberating through the long hallways . She silently counted them while she waited for his reaction, wondering which would come first.

"Very well," Kid said finally, just as the tenth chime sounded and lingered. His voice was flat, mechanical. "Then I will see you when I return." Turning on a heel, he strode for the stairs down to the entrance way.

"Be careful," she started to say, but the door closed behind him before she could get the words out. Feeling unsettled, Liz went to find her sister and settled down onto the plush white carpet now speckled with crumbs.

"Sis," Patty asked around a mouthful of cookie. "Do I gotta go to bed now?"

The elder Thompson smiled, though the expression didn't reach her eyes. "No, that's okay. Let's both stay up late, all right?"

* * *

In the small hours of the morning, Liz finally turned off the TV and picked Patty up, carrying her sister slowly up the stairs to their bedroom. Patty smelled of chocolate and orange pop, a combination of refined sugars that had ensured she crashed hard when the high wore off. The hallways seemed longer than usual; it had never before occurred to Liz to think of a place in terms of alive or not, but Gallows had ceased to breathe with only the two of them there.

For a long time she lay awake, listening to Patty's gentle snoring, straining her ears to hear the doors in the foyer open and signal that Kid had returned, but it never came and eventually, she too fell asleep.

* * *

For the first time since they'd come to Death City, the table was still clean and empty when they trod barefoot into the kitchen the next morning. No breakfast, no carefully folded newspapers... and no Kid. Patty looked up at her expectantly, so she forced a smile and took down two bowls from the cupboard. "How about cereal?" she offered lamely.

"No pancakes?"

"Sorry," Liz said, thinking the apology was too small in the pristine white and chrome kitchen. She gave Patty the pitcher of milk and drummed her fingers on the counter. "I'm going to bring in those newspapers from the step. I'll be right back."

She was just coming around the corner when morning sunlight spilled across the entranceway as the doors opened. Kid slid inside, using his back to push the tall portal closed behind him and leaned against the polished wood, oblivious to his audience of one. Liz's breath caught as she saw blood drip from his sleeve and speckle the tile.

"Oh my god," she gaped. "Are you okay?"

Kid's head jerked up as he realized he was not alone, yellow eyes narrowed so that they looked out of place on the still-rounded face of a child. The vulnerability lasted only an instant however and he immediately he drew himself up to his normal straight posture, lifting his chin to answer, "I'm fine."

"Bulls—" Liz began, but he cut her off.

"I've already told you that type of language isn't necessary, Liz. Is Patty already awake? Did you two sleep well?" He began walking past her, either blind to or blithely ignoring the bloody spots he left behind him and leaving her to follow, staring and aghast at just  _how much_  of an ass one person could be.

"What the hell is with you?" she finally found her voice again, burying her initial flash of concern under aggravation at his haughty attitude. "Why are you all beat up? Aren't you like... a god or something? Were you lying?" When her barbs didn't cause him to slow his steps, Liz's anger sharpened. "Hey! Don't you fucking ignore me! You see why I didn't want Patty mixed up in that? You're like some kind of defective—"

He stopped so suddenly that she ran into him, thinking at first that she'd scored by finally finding an insult that affected him. Then she realized he was staring through the doorway into the living room, which was still a mess from their late night activities. He swallowed hard, hands clenched and bent to pick up one of the empty plastic bowls she vaguely remembered kicking aside as she carried Patty upstairs.

"Hey," Liz said again, but with an altogether different inflection. "Yeah, we, uhh... made a bit of a mess, that's all. It's not a big deal. You should like... wash up or... stop bleeding or something before you worry about this." When he knelt to begin gathering the empty pop cans, she added lamely, "Do you want some help?"

"I'll do it," Kid said. "It's not your responsibility. You're guests."

_Guests._  The impersonal term was a slap in the face, but watching him move so stiffly — and obviously in pain — she couldn't find it in her to continue her slander. "Kid..."

"I apologize for not being back in time to prepare breakfast."

"That's not..."

"If you and Patty would like, I'll make brunch instead?" He tilted his head consideringly. "Then we'll need to have an early dinner, so perhaps we should put the meal off until noon if you two have already eaten."

Liz threw up her hands in exasperation and left the room.

* * *

"Sis," Patty said, sounding unusually subdued. "Kid's sleeping."

"That's what happens when you stay out all night, Patty." Liz refused to let any worry creep into her words. She had gone back to her room and began flipping through magazines she had already read. When that had failed to distract her, she'd started brushing her hair, selfishly enjoying the vanity of it. "But what were you doing in Kid's room?"

"I wasn't. He's sleepin' in the hallway."

The elder Thompson's hands stopped mid-stroke and she lowered the brush. " _What?_ "

Patty beckoned and led her to where Kid was slumped against the wall. A flash of panic as Liz wondered if her sister had been mistaken and  _sleeping_  was actually  _dead_  (was that supposed to be a cosmic pun? had he really been  _that_  injured?) but then she saw that his chest was rising and falling in a steady motion. A bucket of soapy water was next to him, and one of his hands was curled loosely around a rag. He didn't so much as stir when Patty leaned down and poked his cheek with one finger.

"Wow," she giggled. "He's out of it real good, Sis! Is he being a dummy for sleepin' sitting up?"

"Yeah, he's a dummy," Liz responded. "Oh for... Patty, help me lift him up, okay?"

Together they maneuvered him down the hallways and opened the door to his room. Neither of them had been in here before and Liz wasn't sure if she'd been expecting bats roosting on the rafters or a coffin instead of a bed. Instead it looked like a normal bedroom, with bookcases and lamps and a striped blanket on the perfectly made bed. They hooked their arms under his to get his head in the vicinity of the pillows and through the whole thing, he never twitched.

They let him sleep. Brunch never happened, and Liz spent part of the afternoon cleaning up spots of blood from the front hall so they wouldn't stain.

* * *

Kid slept for some eighteen hours, and it was almost lunchtime on the second day when they heard his footsteps upstairs from the living room where they were watching TV. Liz passed Patty the remote and murmured a  _be right back_  and headed upstairs, determined to at least set some things straight between them.

Kid's voice reached her before she cleared the first landing but Liz knew he wasn't talking to her. She tried to keep her tread light as she came up the last few steps, listening to the conversation. "-as you, Father," he was saying. "The ghoul was being supported by someone, but I sensed no other corrupt souls in the vicinity. It could have been a witch wearing Soul Protect, however the support was active and everything we know about them says that they cannot cast spells while shielding their souls like that."

"True," Shinigami said, his voice distorted slightly where it came through the mirror they used to communicate, the same massive one that Kid had taken them through to reach the Death Room. "Not good, not good at all! I hope they're not evolving some more. Too few technicians have reliable Soul Perception as of yet. But you did a good job, Kid! One less pre-kishin out there. Are you sure you don't want to hang onto this soul? You've got Weapons now."

Kid's voice dropped slightly. "I'm sure," he answered. "Please take it, Father. I believe... I believe that I may have misjudged the situation. With your permission, may I make some calls on Shibusen's behalf to remedy it?"

The elder god's voice was kindly. "Of course you can, Kid. I hope you get it all sorted out."

* * *

They didn't see Kid for the rest of the day, although they heard him pacing occasionally in the large office which they'd never seen him use until now. "Is that like the principal's office?" Patty asked innocently, for though she'd never been to school she'd somehow linked that phrase with being in trouble. There were a sea of crayons, an open book spread on the table in front of her and the younger sister was happily working on a cartoonish depiction of what she guessed had to be Noah's Ark, given the boat.

"More like the President's office," Liz mumbled.  _I believe I may have misjudged the situation_ , Kid had said. Her hands itched as she tried to recall them folded around the wad of money they'd stashed. Was it enough? Should they run now? What had Kid meant when he said that? She got up and paced, noting with more than a little irony that it  _was such a Kid-like thing to do!_  but it helped her think and helped to burn off a little of the stressful energy that filled her like a buzz of bees. She needed to make a decision, knew with a gut-clenching certainty that it would be coming soon and she hoped that she and her sister would be ready for it.

"Liz," Kid's voice startled her and she realized he was standing in the doorway. She hadn't even realized that the muted conversation from the office had stopped. "Would it be all right if I spoke to you privately for a few moments?"

"Yeah," she said. "Patty, you stay in here and keep colouring, okay?"

Patty rolled her crayon between her fingers, but finally nodded. "'Kay Sis," she replied. "But don't take too long, you gotta colour the tiger."

"Save me some orange crayon then," Liz answered, though the last part of her sentence nearly faltered when she realized that the outcome of this meeting might decide whether Patty would ever get to worry about such a carefree thing as crayons and colouring books again.

Once in the office, Kid pulled out the chair on the near side of the desk, holding it politely as she sat down with all the gingerness of someone about to step on a landmine, before settling himself into the high-backed chair across from her. His expression was serious and with a jolt, she realized that she'd really only seen him smile when they were all working together on their daily shooting practices. There were times when he seemed more relaxed or content, but only the satisfaction of a demanding workout seemed to break through that hyper-reserved shell and wring actual emotion from him.

"I've been in contact with the State Board of New York," Kid began and Liz's heart rate picked up immediately. "I've arranged an apartment for yourself and Patty just inside of Queens. I know you're more familiar with Brooklyn but I didn't want to put you back into the questionable end of town after you'd finally gotten out of it. A weekly allowance will be deposited into an autonomous bank account to be set up for you both and its funds will be entirely at your disposal and discretion. I've also spoken with the New York State Educational Conference Board who have agreed to offer Patty a chance to attend private schooling, to bring her skills up to par with others her age. You are, of course, welcome to sit in on any classes you wish. Furthermore-"

"Wait wait wait," Liz interjected, putting a hand to her head. "You're kicking us out? Just like that, we're back on the fucking street again?"

Kid's brow furrowed, his distaste split equally between her cursing and her accusation. "No Liz," he said patiently. "I just said that I've arranged housing for you. And I resent the implication that I am 'kicking you out'. You said yourself on the trip to Death City, that you only intended this to be temporary."

"On my terms!"

The young reaper shrugged slightly, as though that had been considered and summarily dismissed. Liz felt a spike of anger and gripped the arms of the cushioned chair, staring hard at him. "So this is payback? Because we wouldn't go with you the other night and you got your ass kicked by some ghoul, now you're just dumping us off? This is just fucking great,  _Death the Kid_ , I am so tired of being used! Don't you get that I have to protect Patty, that she is my goddamn  _sister_  and that I'm not going to-"

" _Elizabeth_ ," Kid cut her off, his golden eyes turning fierce. The use of her full name was enough to interrupt her tirade and she stared as he continued quietly, "Please stop swearing. I'm only trying to help you and your sister by making sure you're both taken care of in the future. I don't want you going back to the life you were living before. That would be... you should have better. You  _deserve_  better than that life."

The plain statement made the elder Thompson's verbal lashing wither; the last person to tell her that had been her mother and the sudden clench of loneliness made her ache. "In exchange for what?" she asked, voice low and flat. "What are the rules?"

"There's only one provision," Kid answered. "And that is that you do not get into trouble with the law again. Shibusen has put a hold on the outstanding warrants for you and your sister's previous transgressions, but any other criminal offenses will be charged to their fullest extent. However you'll no longer have to worry about your basic necessities being taken care of... you can begin living the way that you want to."

Liz tugged her hand through her hair, hoping to defray some of the stress that had been building since she'd sat down in this office. "But we can't stay here," she said, making the question into a statement.

"I won't ask you to when it's obvious that you don't trust me."

"You scrawny asshole, I have to protect Patty before I worry about-!"

"Not once have I ever implied that I chose you two to be my  _bodyguards_ ," Kid flared, standing and placing his hands flat on the table to keep them from clenching. "I'm a reaper, I don't need that kind of protection. I wanted to be equals... partners. I see now that isn't possible, so I wish to do as much as I can for you and your sister before we part ways. Now if you'll please gather your things tonight, I'd like to get an early start for New York in the morning."

Liz stood as well, her hair hiding her expression. "Fine," she said coldly, stalking out of the office and slamming the door behind her with enough force to splinter the heavy oak frame. After she was gone Kid sat down, his heart hammering in his chest. It took several moments before his slim fingers stopped trembling against the wood grain of the desk.

* * *

Patty sat on her bed, arms and legs wrapped around an oversize stuffed giraffe that she had gleefully chosen during one of their first shopping trips, silently watching Liz angrily yank their clothes from the closet hangers and shove them into a suitcase. "Sis..." she began.

"Everything's fine Patty," the older weapon snapped, fighting with the zipper which refused to close. Almost immediately she realized her error and rose, wrapping her arms around her sister apologetically. "I'm sorry, that was mean of me. We're gonna go back to New York, isn't that great? And no matter what he says, we're leaving on our own terms 'cause we're the badass Thompson sisters, right?"

"Right!" Patty answered automatically, pumping an excited fist in the air. "So stick 'em up, bang bang, we're gonna getcha!"

"Yes—no," Liz corrected herself. "No, we're not gonna do that anymore, we're not going to need to. We'll have a real home and we can buy our own things. That'll be nice," she added, hoping her false cheer would be convincing.

The younger blonde's face puckered in thought, her fingers absently stroking the giraffe's felt spots. "Is Kid gonna come with us and live in New York?" she asked.

"No," Liz answered, too quickly and too forcefully. "He's going to stay here and do, uh... you know, stuff that he does. Whatever he does, but without us." She prayed that Patty wouldn't press the matter any further, holding her breath until her sister started to giggle and rolled back on the bed, stuffed animal and all, the issue practically forgotten already.

* * *

_to be concluded in part 5..._


End file.
